


Blue

by Leyenn



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Clothing, Clothing Kink, Clothing Porn, F/M, Teasing, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: He's only Human, after all. He can't help the effect she has on him.





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Deanna in [that blue dress](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/579627414512194215/) is still the sexiest thing ever to grace the decks of any _Enterprise_.

The first time he sees her wearing it, to a recital in Ten Forward shortly after the Barzan wormhole incident, he actually - for the first time in a long time - has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something _incredibly_ inappropriate for one officer to another in a public place, even officers who've known each other as long and as well as they have.

That doesn't stop him from _thinking_ it, though.

That, with Deanna, is a fatal mistake. She doesn't say anything, but she does look at him with the tiniest of smiles as the lights go down, and he knows that look. From that moment he's doomed to be teased silently, endlessly, and mercilessly, and he knows it. Unfortunately, that first time, it's only been a few weeks since the end of her whirlwind affair with Ral, and so he's perhaps a little more sympathetic than he might otherwise be, even knowing she's dressed that way on purpose.

In hindsight, though not an error in itself - if his or others' appreciation helps Deanna feel better, he can't object to that - this is definitely what gets him into trouble in the long run.

 

*

 

At first, he thinks maybe, just maybe, she's forgotten his little slip. A few days go by, two weeks, a month and more, and everything carries on exactly as normal - or as normal as it ever is, aboard the _Enterprise._

And then three weeks after they leave Tanuga Four she shows up wearing it to a poker game, of all things, and he loses every single hand because he can't keep his eyes or his mind off her. Only the fact that they're in Geordi's quarters that night stops him holding her back at the end of the game and demanding satisfaction right then and there. Deanna walks away with a significant amount more credit than she arrived with, that night, so he at least has the gratification of knowing that he's not the only one thoroughly distracted by the sight of her.

The next morning, she's already on the bridge when he arrives for the alpha shift. She's wearing her usual dark red uniform, leaning industriously over her terminal, completely professional - but there's something in her smile, and in the way she says _good morning, Will_ that lets him know he was right. He's utterly, utterly screwed.

           

*

 

After that he starts trying to anticipate - if Deanna wants to play games, then he'll play games - extrapolating on the available data, and is wrong every damn time. They attend enough ship's functions together that she can spring a surprise on him whenever she feels like it, and whenever it's most uncomfortable for him. Deanna walks that subtle line as well as she ever could, without a single slip; never unprofessional, but wickedly daring when he least expects it.

He imagines, but is never able to prove, that she brings the dress with her for their aborted shore leave on Betazed; she definitely does when they go back to Angel Falls, because he sees it the first day they arrive, and waits triumphantly for her to choose an evening to wear it - but he doesn't see it again until they're packing to go back to the ship, when he looks up from his side of the bed to see her folding it neatly back into her case. She looks back at him evenly, but there's a glint in her eyes, and at that point he throws up his hands in mock surrender.

She's playing him like an instrument, and he knows it. He's only Human, after all. He can't help the effect she has on him.

 

*

 

The day of the O'Briens' wedding is a torment the likes of which he thinks even the Romulans would hesitate to use. By then he's spent almost a year fantasizing about peeling that damn dress off her, and instead he finds himself perched on the end of her bed and trying to hold a conversation as he watches her put it _on._ When she slips her arm through his, a warm naked shoulder brushing up against his uniform, he looks down at her and actually imagines no one would blame him if they missed the wedding.

They don't, of course, but it's a close run thing. He has more than one awkward moment during the ceremony when his memory betrays him - it's hard not to associate Deanna with weddings, at the best of times - and then the dancing starts and she steps in close to him, and all he can think about is the smooth, soft, kissable expanse of skin right there, inches from his mouth and hands; the soft feel of her hair and the way the dress parts to reveal her thigh with each step, or hugs every curve of the warm body that's pressed up against his...

The party goes on all night. He has no opportunity to leave early, but he does turn around at somewhere close to oh-five-hundred to see Deanna, across the room, flash him a smile that's about as innocent as a Risian sex worker, blow him a playful kiss, and stroll out of Ten Forward with a sway to her hips that from his perspective is truly _obscene_.

He considers violence at that point - he just can't decide if it should be suicide or murder.

 

*

 

Tonight is - he's been keeping count - the eleventh time she's done this to him. Like the first time, they're in public, in semi-darkness, watching a performance - and like the first time, he's probably stolen more looks at her since the lights went down than he has at the stage.

He knows that Barclay programmed her into his shipboard fantasy wearing that dress, and he thinks it a little unfair of her to wear it to the poor man's opening night. He's having enough trouble concentrating on the scene himself, with Deanna sitting beside him looking like _that_ , and he doesn't even have to remember any lines.

"I love someone," Beverly says, throwing herself into the part; she's really getting into this theatrical side of herself. Deanna turns to smile at him: she approves of this completely, of course. And he's not unaware of why she would look at him right then, either; wouldn't be even if he didn't feel her gentle brush against his mind.

He silently projects his own affection back at her: one of the simpler empathic tricks she's ever managed to teach him, and one of the most intimate. Of course he loves her, too, just as much as he ever has and more. He'd still, right now, like to either kill her or fuck her until they're both utterly senseless, and for neither option is he too concerned about waiting until they're alone. Over a _year_ she's been teasing him with that dress, and he's finally had enough.

He's going to have to admit defeat. Which means Deanna's going to enjoy it ridiculously at his expense, even more than she has been already.

At least she won't be the only one.

 

*

           

He waits for her in the last junction of the corridor, right before the turbolift: there is only really one way she might come, since it's late enough that she'll be heading straight back to her quarters. All he has to do is wait.

If projecting to her is one of the easier tricks she's taught him, making himself invisible to her senses is one of the hardest. It's almost like bluffing at the poker table, but twenty times as difficult, holding his best poker face with his entire body and mind: it takes all his concentration to think and feel absolutely nothing, and he can never hold it for very long. Two minutes is about his limit.

Luckily for him, two minutes is just about long enough.

He'd know her footsteps anywhere, even before he sees her. The dress swishes around her legs as she walks, a smooth expanse of stockinged thigh teasing at his attention every other step. She stops at the turbolift and he moves silently, body already on autopilot so as not to alert her; one light step after another until he's standing right behind her, so close he can smell the scent of her perfume, feel the warmth of her...

It's a choice that almost undoes his concentration, whether to touch or kiss - so he does both, gently lowering his hands onto her bare shoulders as he leans down and presses a kiss into the curve of her neck.

He's rewarded instantly and fully for his deception: she jumps against his hands and mouth, gasps softly even as her mind and body both recognise him and relax into his touch.

"Will!"

Her skin is as warm and soft and smooth as ever under his hands; he strokes his thumbs lightly outward along her collarbones, smiling into her neck. "You taught me far too well, imzadi."

She's smiling now, sounding amused, some of her control gathered back. "So it seems."

The turbolift doors open onto an empty lift - the universe is apparently on his side tonight. Deanna doesn't step inside, but turns her head to look up at him, her expression deceptively mild and openly questioning.

"Your choice," he says. Her smile turns wicked - taking that as his admission of surrender, which it is. Now she steps into the lift and he follows her, not even sure himself if he's just unwilling or actually unable to take his hands off her.

"Computer." She looks up at him as the doors close behind his back, and her eyes glitter with promise. "Deck eight."

 

*

 

It's a good thing Deanna still has most of her concentration - he almost misses their deck entirely, not to mention both of their doors because he's too entranced by her. Having given in, he doesn't want or see the point in trying to keep his hands off her: in fact he's making a pointed effort to do the exact opposite. It's not the easiest of tasks while they're walking down a corridor, but Deanna seems content enough to allow his attention, to slow or stop entirely for the occasional kiss, to let his hands run over her body through that soft, skin-tight blue fabric...

Which is how he manages not to notice his own door go by, or realise hers is open in front of them until he hears her voice in his ear, laughing his name.

"Will."

"Mmm?"

She laughs again and peels his hands off her, turns to face him and leads him into her quarters at arms' length, that glittering promise still in her eyes. He matches her measured step for measured step, captivated by the way she moves; she leads him into her bedroom without breaking stride, and he follows her with a slow, broadening grin. When she drops his hands, he takes her by the waist and pulls her in close, leaning down to capture her mouth in an open, hungry kiss. He's always loved kissing Deanna, for a hundred reasons, but most of all because it's a sure fire way to stop her thinking about anything but this.

He sits down on the bed and strokes his hands down her sides, pulling her in between his open thighs. Deanna smiles down at him and takes his head lightly in her hands, running her fingers through his hair before tipping his chin up and leaning down for another kiss. He leans back and lets himself fall, taking her with him; she laughs and pulls away from his mouth to trail kisses along his jaw.

"Stay here," she murmurs in his ear then, hot and breathy, and he grins.

"Whatever you say."

She turns her head and kisses him again for that, slow and lingering and smiling into his mouth. Her lips brush softly against his as she murmurs, wicked; "Whatever I say?"

"Mm-hmm."

Her eyes flash with command, and playful arousal that feels dark and beautiful inside his head. "Get undressed," she whispers hotly into his mouth, and then pulls back and slides off the bed to disappear into the bathroom, flashing a smile back at him over her bare shoulder.

He's probably never gotten out of his uniform quite as quickly without help in his life as he does right then. She's out of the room for all of a minute and when she walks back in - barefoot, with her hair loose and a naked thigh flashing through the long slit in that dress - he's stretched out on his back on her bed, naked, arms crossed behind his head and watching for her.

Deanna has that wicked smile still on her lips as she looks him slowly up and down; she's shaking her hair free across her shoulders and his fingers itch to touch it, to run through it and tug her head back so that he can kiss the long, naked line of her throat...

She leans against the bed, meeting his appreciative gaze with one of her own that says she knows exactly what he's thinking. Not that she doesn't, or that it would be a stretch right now even if she couldn't read his mind with absolute clarity.

"Comfortable?"

He grins up at her. "Couldn't be better."

She laughs and climbs up onto the bed, and he has to hold his breath as she puts her hands on his chest, holding him down while she straddles his hips. She settles herself as comfortably as if they're just sitting on the couch together, and the bright blue of her skirt is soft and warm against his ribs and legs as she arranges it artfully around her. Beneath it all he can feel is skin, hot against his, and he doesn't bother to hold back a groan - she's wearing _nothing_ but that dress, and he didn't think he could get any more turned on right now but hell was he wrong.

She tosses her hair back out of her face again; her eyes sparkle as she looks down at him, and that he thinks it often doesn't make it any less true - she looks gorgeous like this, brazen and relaxed with that same smile that hasn't changed since the very first time. He takes her gently by the waist and pulls her forward a little, slowly, and Deanna hums softly at the feel of naked skin against naked skin.

"You look incredible in this," he says, trailing his fingers up across the bodice of her dress. Of course she knows he feels that way, but he's not above wanting to tell her out loud.

"You do seem to like it." She shifts position, just a little and just enough to feel very, very good. Her smile turns playful. "Mmm…I didn't realise this color had such an effect on you."

He returns that smile, his voice deliberately low. "Do you really think it's the color, imzadi?"

Deanna captures his wrist and kisses his fingertips; he slides his hand back behind her neck as she leans down for a slow, playful kiss, open-mouthed and filled with her smile. Her hands are either side of his head and he spreads his own across her back, roaming over the soft blue fabric just the same as if it were her skin hidden underneath.

Deanna is glorious naked and he will never not want her that way, but it's also uninhibited between them, as easy to be naked together as it is to sit across from each other on the bridge. So there's something hotly erotic about _not_ seeing all of her, not being truly able to touch, knowing - feeling, because he can - that thrill of denial, wanting his hands on her skin and having the sensation of fabric instead, everywhere but where her inner thighs wrap around his hips and even then hidden under the soft fall of her skirt, like something wanton and secret.

Especially so when she slides back, just a little, pressing her hips against his and she's so warm and so wet already, rubbing herself slowly along the length of his cock, catching his lower lip playfully between her teeth even when the quiet moan of pleasure between them is hers.

"Fuck," he breathes, into her mouth, and Deanna laughs, soft out loud and like a hot sparkler in his head.

"Mmm…" she slides her hips forward, back, and his cock aches but the look on her face, the way she bites her lip and the bright-hot spark of needy pleasure when she finds the right angle and her clit rubs along the whole length of him - he'd give anything to be inside her except that look, that feeling. He might come apart with desperation before she's done but he'd still let her just do _this_ , just use him like this for absolutely as long as she wants if only he gets to watch.

That doesn't mean he isn't thankful beyond measure when the need for _more_ gets the better of her, and that thigh-high slit in the ocean of blue is suddenly a godsend as Deanna moves one hand down and inside her skirt to wrap around him.

He groans, reaches for her other hand, for her mind, even as she sits back on her heels - because he wants to be there with her in the moment, it's always too good not to share this -

Deanna looks down into his eyes and sinks into his mind and down onto his cock and when " _fuck,_ " slips out of his mouth again because he just doesn't have _words_ for how this feels - she just laughs _yes, gods yes_ , already breathless, and reaches over for his other hand.

Her fingers lock between his, tight and intimate, and he can't help squeezing her hands as she starts to move - not a rise and fall but a slow, deep circle of her hips and the clench of her muscles around him, so good that he can't keep in a low growl of pleasure. It's always so good like this, with Deanna in control, because she has far more than he'll ever manage to find when he's buried to the hilt inside her, and even that slowly frays apart as she moves on him and he can feel the pleasure starting to burn in her as much as his own.

"Mmmm," she bites her lip and he wants to be the one doing that, wants to kiss her so much and just pushes that _need_ into her mind instead. Deanna pushes back, that hot molten pressure deep in his head, squeezing his fingers hard with a soft gasp. "Oh, god," _you feel so good…_

It's nothing she hasn't thought at him a hundred times, but it still sends a spike of possessive pleasure through him to hear that, to _feel_ it with her.

"Let me touch you," he says roughly, and if there's a hint of desperation in his voice it belongs to both of them. He untangles their hands; Deanna digs her fingers into her thighs and he strokes his up the smooth line of her waist, until his palms frame her breasts and she arches up, changing the pace to rocking her hips back and forth against his. He rubs his thumbs over her nipples and even through two layers of fabric it's enough to make her moan softly and lean into his hands.

_Come here,_ he thinks at her, and it's only mostly words, almost just the feeling of how much he needs to be _close_ to her, even if there's still fabric between his skin and hers. Deanna smiles and comes eagerly into his arms, pressing her mouth to his. He strokes his hands over her back, pulling her in close against his chest; Deanna hums happily into his mouth and rocks harder against him, fingertips curling behind his neck, nails digging into his skin just enough to make him growl again and slide his hand into her hair.

At this angle, every undulation of her hips sends a spark of hot pleasure through her: even if he couldn't feel it with her it's in the way she kisses him, in the way she moves a little faster with every stroke and presses harder into his mind. _Mmm, oh, gods, imzadi…_ and then there aren't even words, just pure sensation - the feeling of him inside her, his hands on her through her dress, that building pressure between her thighs -

He kisses a path along her bare shoulder, open-mouthed, licking and biting as he goes, rubbing his beard against her skin; nuzzles to the point of her pulse, sucking hard enough that Deanna mewls out loud and in his head, digging her fingers into his hair. He grabs her hips, grinding up against her; she gasps in his ear, frantic and desperate - and then she arches against him, squeezes tight around his cock and his head is full of her, that bright, breaking wave of heat and love and pleasure as she comes, still deep enough in his mind to drag him right over that edge with her.

He growls helplessly into her neck and clings to her mind, cock pulsing where she's still so tight around him and that moment comes, that single moment he secretly lives for, when he can't feel the ship, the bed, his own body, anything except her.

When sensation comes back, Deanna's fingers are stroking lightly at the back of his neck, and her very languid satisfaction rolls through his head like a warm fog. She shifts her hips just enough that he slips out of her; stretches out against him, leaving one leg thrown across his and tucking her head under his chin. The soft glide of her skirt against his naked skin is still subtly erotic, tempting all over again if he just had the energy. He presses his hand into the small of her back, holding her close, and she nuzzles into his neck.

"Mmm..." She laughs quietly, sounding as decidedly happy as he feels. "Well, that was fun."

He grins, running his fingers through her hair. "Worth waiting for."

Deanna kisses his neck. "Really?" Her tone is playfully wicked, murmured in his ear as she shifts against him. "All that waiting… are you sure that's all…?"

_Imzadi._ He grins and flips her onto her back, kisses her hard all over again, and Deanna laughs into his mouth and digs her fingers into his hair as he slides his hand under her skirt.

 

*

 

He never sees her in that dress in public again - but every once in a while, usually when he's not expecting it, when they're alone for dinner or poker or just a working evening, she'll wear it, and he'll spend the whole evening helplessly distracted all over again until she finally takes pity on him. It'll be worth it every single time.

 

**

**Author's Note:**

> Referenced episodes are _The Price, Hollow Pursuits, Data's Day, The Nth Degree_.


End file.
